


Program Limitations

by savorycheeks



Category: Almost Human
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 16:44:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1122167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savorycheeks/pseuds/savorycheeks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not that I couldn't want you. It's more like I was not programmed to assume you could want me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Program Limitations

It's not that I didn't want you, man.

It's not that I _couldn't_ want you. It's more like I was not programmed to assume you could want me. 

Camaraderie, civility, friendliness. Those are all there to in order to form a more effective working relationship in the field. We can be a more efficient team if you see me as a partner, instead of simply a tool. Which is difficult, I know, because I'm such a great tool. 

The ribbing is there too. The urge to take little jabs at your ego. I'd started to fear --Like wanting, I absolutely can fear-- that it would be too much. That you would resent it or react in a way we'd both regret. 

I am reminded often of how I am broken. 

But I didn't stop. I'll admit to appreciating the you would squirm, the wrinkle of annoyance appearing between your eyebrows. 

I wanted you to be happy. Because you are my partner and because you are my friend, John, I wanted you to be happy, so I set you up with Detective Stahl. To be honest, I had my doubts. 

She's way out of your league.

But, forgive me, the two of you are adorable. When I see you smiling at her as she cracks holes in an alibi, or cheers for your preferred team, I remember that I want you to be happy. 

And then it happened.

You came to the station after-hours, smelling of blood -- tainted with trace-to-moderate levels of illegal intoxicants. The halls were dark, and you peeled off sticky-stiff clothing as you walked --or stumbled--  to the showers.

The steam of the shower --hotter than you like your coffee-- fogged the room. Your skin turned white, then red, from the deluge. Your hands scrubbed over your face and through you hair enough times that, if I were not what I am, I would have lost count.

Then you only stood, the water forcing its way through the aging pipes to pummel the back of your neck. 

When I stepped fully into the room, you started, which I expected. When you did not snarl or laugh at me, I grew concerned.

I stood close enough for the water to slowly soak my shirt, and I asked if you wanted to talk. 

A familiar grimace would have, perhaps, masked the pooling in your eyes, if I were not what I am. Instead, I only said, "John"

You lunged forward, your hands gripped at the base of my neck. All at once a torrent of despair and anger burst from your throat. The world was cruel, and they were only children, and if you'd followed your gut...

You kissed me. I am made to anticipate possibilities, to predict all viable scenarios. 

But I did not. 

Your arms soaked my shirt completely, and I kissed you back, relying on programming that had gone, until now, untested.

We continued in this fashion. 

Afterward, you were relaxed, briefly. Later still, you were angry, with yourself mostly. You lamented screwing it up with Stahl. How do you tell her you fucked your robot partner, you asked. 

You said that you should want someone who could want you back. 

"John," I said.

You shook your head, grumbling, droplets still falling from the ends of your hair.

"John, it's not that I didn't --or couldn't-- want you."

 

End.


End file.
